


Commensalism

by Xrangel



Category: Dangan, Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Tragedy, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 09:13:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25348261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xrangel/pseuds/Xrangel
Summary: She's dead."Commensalism: An association between two organisms in which one benefits and the other derives neither benefit nor harm"
Relationships: Enoshima Junko/Ikusaba Mukuro, Ikusaba Mukuro/Naegi Makoto
Comments: 23
Kudos: 73





	1. Chapter 1

_‘Who… Who is that?’_

Mukuro stared down at the body displayed within the casket. It was a woman’s body - She had long, blonde hair that was let down, spread across the cushioned insides of the coffin. Her pale skin seemed to be almost completely white, and stuck out sharply against the pure black cloth that covered up everything below her shoulders. She had no face.

_‘No. No, who is that? Stop.’_

She saw flashes of red. She saw a knife piercing through a body. Then she saw a bullet. Bullets. And a car crash. And a lightning strike. And a burning body. And there was the body underwater, drowning.

Then, tiny details started to pop up from the surface of the corpse’s skin. They kept accumulating and overlapping until finally, Mukuro found that she could barely make out her face. A small, pointed nose. Light, blue eyes.

No, scratch that. She was closing her eyes.

And that smile.

_‘That smile?’_

Her mouth was turned slightly upwards and closed tightly in a small, almost modest smile. It was wrong. So wrong. Her mind felt foggy and unfocused. How long has it been like that?

Mukuro absent-mindedly brought her hand up to her lips. She wasn’t wearing any gloves, so the mark of Fenrir was displayed plainly for all to see, not that it mattered. The fingernail on her index finger searched until it found a loose tag of skin. Once it did, she dug in and brought up her thumb to tear it off. It stung, but she hardly noticed. 

A hand was placed on her shoulder - Sudden, unwanted, physical contact. If it were a month or so ago, she would have instinctively retaliated, or pulled away as fast as she could. Now though? She didn’t care. She didn’t care about the concerned whispers in her ear either.

All she could care about was the dead body in front of her. Why did it look so familiar? Why was it that the longer she stared at it, the heavier that knot in her stomach felt? It wasn’t as if she were unfamiliar with corpses. In fact, she was likely responsible for hundreds of them.

The hand drew away, thankfully. Warmth returned to her shoulder. Her eyes shifted slightly downwards. Her suit was wrinkled and there was no tie. She must have forgotten it. There was grass at her feet. It was a beautiful, vibrant green. She quickly returned her full attention to the corpse.

More hushed whispering, louder this time. And more of them. A cacophony of voices, some familiar, some unfamiliar. It all served to confuse her even further. Where was she? Where was she? ‘ _Where am I? Who is that? Where am I? Why am I here? Where’s Junko? Who is that? Where am I? Where am I?’_

Someone appeared by her side. They were saying something. She shivered.

…

Finally, her eyes managed to tear themselves away from the body. She looked up and turned to face the person besides her.

_‘Ah. That’s right.’_

_‘That’s right.’_

“-rry. I really am. I… She was…” He shook his head. “Sorry. I’m not good at this kind of thing. It’s just… I never expected for something like this to happen. Mukuro, if you need to talk… We’re always here for you.”

She looked back down at the body. It was Junko. Junko Enoshima. Her sister, and the person she loved the most. And the only person she had. And everything. She’s dead.

_‘Stupid.’_

“O-Ok.” Mukuro muttered.

Somehow, his face managed to grow more concerned. “Are you okay? No offense, but you don’t look very good.” He hissed and shook his head. “Wait, no. I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. It makes sense, considering what happened.”

“It’s fine.” She said. She knew how terrible she looked. Her hair was oily and unkempt - It must have been weeks since she had last showered. Her lips were a scarred mess of scabs and patches of blood. As evident by her slightly sunken cheeks, she hadn’t been eating much either. “Excuse me.”

She quickly walked away, unsure of where she was going. All she knew was that she had to get away, get away from all of the suits and flowers and Junko and whispering and eyes and people and Junko and death and apologies and Ju -

She looked up. The sun was shining brightly. Too brightly. There were barely any clouds on the pristine, blue sky.

_‘Whatever.’_

Mukuro kept walking until she found a nondescript white van. She tried to open the door to the passenger seat. It was unlocked. She sat down and locked the door before closing it. When she looked at the driver’s seat, she saw that just outside of the windows, someone was there. He was looking around, as if searching for…

She shook her head and quickly crawled over to the driver’s seat. She brought out her keys and turned on the van. Without sparing a second glance at him, she backed out of her parking space.

How long had it been? She didn’t know. She didn’t care.

Mukuro blinked a few times and suddenly, she was in a room. It was hers.

_‘I.’_

An apartment. Almost like a box. When was the last time she had been here? She couldn’t recall. She almost always spent her nights somewhere else. Like at makeshift camps or settlements. Or more recently, dorm rooms. Or more recently, Junko’s house. Or more recently, _somewhere_. Anywhere but here. But here she was.

She crouched down and stuck her arm under her bed. Yeah, it was there. She pulled out a duffel bag and opened it. A gun. Empty. More guns. Empty. Emptier. Broken. Models. A knife? No, something cleaner. Quicker. There were more knives. An entire collection. None of them would be good. A grappling hook. Why? Oh, that’s fine.

There was a loud ringing noise that filled her ears. It was very annoying. It made her head hurt. Why had she done that?

She used the knife to cut off the hook. Now it was just a grappling rope. Or a rope, if you wanted to call it that. _‘It’s a rope. Shut up.’_ It was long. Very, very long. Long enough. Too long. She cut the rope more until it was just right. It was frayed at the ends and loose strands stuck out and had an odd, musty smell but that didn’t matter.

It didn’t take long for her to fashion a good, sturdy noose and found that it fit quite snugly around her neck and now where to hang it from oh yes she just got on top of her bed and stood up and oh there’s the knife but she had more so she stabbed all of them on the wall closely together fit tightly and cleanly and she jumped off her bed and pulled it far far away where it wouldn’t hinder her and why was it so then she pulled a stool up where did it come from she didn’t know she almost always spent her night somewhere else so she didn’t even know that and she _tied the_ rope and ‘ _There’s nothing. No Fenrir. There’s no war. No.. Junko..’ tied_ the other end of the rope to the knives and pulled and it held it held sturdy and firmly and nicel

_*knock knock knock*_

‘ _WHAT.’_

_*knock knock knock*_

“Mukuro! Are you in there?”

Her eyes darted around. Her suddenly rapid and shallow breaths sounded as loud as gunshots now. Why now? Why him? What was he doing here? How? ‘ _Followed?_ ’

…

_*knock knock knock*_

…

The door knob twisted. She hadn’t locked it.

And _‘oh god here he is why’_

He stood there. For years, he stood there. His eyes widened.

And in an instant, he was just before her. He was shouting something. He -

She was on the floor.

…

Makoto was hugging her. Someone was saying something. Someone was walking around. They were at her apartment. She didn’t know why they were there. But Makoto was here. He was hugging her. And there was no rope around her neck.

_‘What happened?’_

  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

She hadn’t been here before. Bright lights, soft bed, warm air. It was all very strange. She tried to remember how she ended up here, but she could barely recall anything. All she could remember was Junko’s dead body. Dead, but perfectly beautiful, preserved and embalmed in a dark oak casket with pink crystalline engravings. So lavish! Extraordinary! Just like her. In every aspect, she was quite the sporadic person, always getting hyped up about _something_ , whether it be travelling, fashion, or despai-

Mukuro sat up from the bed as a sudden wave of nausea overtook her. She gagged and put her hand up to her torn lips. After a few seconds of dry heaving, her stomach eventually calmed and she found herself once again at awe of her surroundings. It was such a plain room - Junko would have hated it. She would have probably called the plain white blanket ‘drab’, or ‘boring’. The void-black walls? Despairingly plai-

She doubled over. Sickly pain, beyond anything she had ever imagined. It circulated in her veins, crawling its way through her body like thick poison. Tears swam in her eyes. She tried to put an arm out to steady herself, but her hand missed the bed and met nothing but air. Her body, already leaning towards her arm, tumbled and fell like a sack of bricks. The cold hard wooden floor sent a dull reverberating pain through her. Immediately, the beginnings of a painful headache began to form.

_‘What’s wrong with me?’_

_‘Fuck, fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck’_

She began to salivate, uncomfortably warm puddling in her mouth. She propped herself up from the floor with her hands and knees and vomited. Right there, on the clean floor. It smelled terrible. It felt terrible. It was so thin, a broken gray with hints of yellow and all liquid. The puddle spread quickly through the floor, thinning itself out even more. She felt the repulsive water crawl under her palms and knees. The sickly warm saliva and bile felt like acid on her skin. She hissed and pushed herself up from the ground, quickly righting herself up on her feet. But as soon as she found herself standing, the room began spinning. Around and around, black dots like static popped into her vision and that familiar feeling of nausea returned to her stomach.

She put her hand on a nearby dresser to steady herself, but the vomit on her palm caused it to slip. She fell back to the ground, managing to smash the side of her head into the bed frame. She screamed, mostly out of frustration, and instantly regretted doing so. Her voice was so _loud_ . It hurt her ears, and seemed to somehow echo in the room. Her ears began to ring and the room only spun faster and faster. She could only lie there on the floor, a pitiful slug in a puddle of her own vomit. Tears kept pouring out her eyes, and the only thought that ran across her mind was _‘Why?’_

Loud footsteps. Somewhere. From somewhere, she didn’t know. She didn’t care. It was far off, distant, in another world.

She wanted to leave. She wanted to find Junko. She wanted to find Junko. She wanted to find Junko. She needed to find Junko. She needed to find someone. SOMEONE. Fenrir. Junko. Makoto. Anyone. Why couldn’t they just understand? She was a soldier.. A fucking soldier. The Ultimate Soldier. That’s what everyone called her. That’s what she lived for. 

_‘JGSDF. I need them.’_

Apply. Yes, she should have no problem getting in. JGSDF. That would fix her. She would be fixed.

 _‘I just wanted her to be happy. That’s it. THAT’S IT. I never wanted any of this.’_ She thought bitterly to herself, as if those thoughts would empower her. Or fix this. Or do anything. _‘Why can’t I do anything?’_

Mukuro had never felt so disgusted. There were so many things she wanted to do. But most of all, she wanted to just get up and leave.

But she couldn't. She just couldn’t. It was like there were weights tied to her limbs. She just simply didn’t have the energy to move more than an inch at a time. She was angry. She was tired. She was upset. She was scared. She was everything. Everything. 

There were more footsteps. Door. The door knob twisted and right there, on the floor, covered in bile, a series of images flashed through her mind. A rope. Knife. Door. Makoto. Classmates Acquaintances. Funeral.

‘ _Oh. Oh god I tried to kill myself. And I failed. How could I fail at something so simple? All I needed to do was PUSH.’_

The door opened and Makoto entered the room with panic clear in his movements. He probably heard her scream. So, was he the one behind all those footsteps? Yeah, that was safe to say.

How long had it been since they were in Hope’s Peak together? A year? Probably less. Maybe more. She didn’t know. He seemed to retain the same look as when they had first met. The only difference now were a couple of inches in height and a barely visible stubble on his chin.

His eyes locked with hers. They looked the same too. Bright. Full of life. Hopeful. 

“M-Mukuro. What happened? Are you alright?”

She opened her mouth and gaped at him like a fish. Then she cleared her throat and began speaking: “Where am I?”

She half expected to just throw up again, right in front of him. But she managed to keep it down. _'Thank you.'_ Her heart raced and raced and raced... It was okay though. Okay, okay. Calm down. Be normal. It's FINE. Just take deep breaths. You're fine.

“Erm, this is the guest room. In my house, I mean.” Makoto said. He stuck out horribly up against the black walls. It was disconcerting. “I was downstairs when I heard you scream. What happened? Why are you on the floor, and…” 

He frowned. “What’s that smell?”

“It’s… nothing. Why am I at your house?” She stood up, this time with no issues. Looking down, she saw that she was still wearing the same clothes from the funeral - A wrinkled suit and dress pants.

“W-Well, after what happened… Um, we just didn’t want to leave you at your apartment, with all of the weapons and stuff.” Makoto said, scratching the back of his head. Like her, he was wearing a suit as well. Unlike hers however, his seemed to be properly maintained. “So we decided that it might be okay if we brought you to my house, since there’s no one here except for me. And you now, I guess.”

His frown grew deeper as he looked back down at the floor. “That… Oh, did you get sick?”

After a moment of hesitation, she nodded. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll clean it up and leave soon. Thanks for trying to take care of me, but I’m fine.”

“Mukuro, I’m not trying to be rude, but you’re not ok.” He shook his head. “You… I mean, what happened earlier… We need to get you help. I know someone - Her name is Miaya. She was the Ultimate Therapist back at Hope’s Peak.”

She glared at him. Her hands were trembling, but she didn't know why. She hoped he couldn't see them. “Makoto, seriously, I’m alright. I don’t know what came over me, but it won’t happen again.”

“Please. I really am worried about you. Everyone is.” Makoto said, face softening. “You don’t have to go through this alone. We’re your friends!”

“Friends?” Mukuro asked. “We haven’t even seen each other in almost a year.” 

“You invited us to her funeral, didn’t you?” He asked.

“I… I did?” She blinked. If she were to be honest, she didn’t remember much of what happened before the funeral. It was all a blur. 

“Mukuro. Please.”

…

“Fine.” She sighed. “Whatever. I’ll meet with your therapist later. Can I leave now?”

He shook his head. “I don’t want you to try and hurt yourself again.”

She had to restrain herself from throwing her arms up in frustration. It wasn’t as if she was planning to try and off herself again as soon as she left. She would be fine. Why did he have to care so much? It was getting on her nerves.

She wanted to argue further, but from the look on his face, it was clear that he wasn’t going to budge on the matter. So she just sighed and crossed her arms.

“Fine.” She repeated. “But if I’m going to stay here, can I use your restroom? I need to clean up."


	3. Chapter 3

It was so cold. 

But that’s alright. It was how she usually did this. She rarely ever used warm water while showering. After all, why would she waste the energy needed to produce warm water when cold water would accomplish the same goal? It’s not like someone like her deserved such luxury anyway.

She closed her eyes and massaged a handful of shampoo into her scalp. Her hair felt thin and wiry - It was like running her hand through a pile of hay. It reminded her of the wigs that Junko used to make with her cut hair. They always looked beautiful, but felt extremely uncomfortable to wear. Just thinking about them made her hands and scalp start to prickle.

After rinsing, she opened her eyes and looked down. There were numerous strands of hair at her feet. Just looking at them made her feel disgusted at herself. It was like she couldn’t even take care of herself properly without Junko around. Why had she acted like a pouting child for so long? Refusing to eat or practice basic hygiene… It was pathetic.

_‘Damn it. Why am I so helpless?’_

Her movements stilled. Her arms fell to her sides.

The thought ran through her mind like a derailing train, crashing into any other clouds of thoughts that might have been around.

_‘Helpless.’_

That’s right. If it weren’t for Makoto and her other classmates, she would be dead right now, wouldn’t she? Bubbles of laughter briefly began to surface in her throat before she slammed a closed fist into the back of her neck, quelling them. She was a soldier, and yet not only did she fail to protect Junko, but she couldn’t even stop herself from nearly meeting death. Now that she thought about it, what was the point of being a soldier if she had nothing to fight for? 

She was useless, not needed.

_‘This is so familiar. So familiar. Why is this happening again? Can’t I stop myself?’_

She kneeled down in the shower and put the plug in the drain. As water began to slowly but fill the bathtub, she laid down so that she was looking up at the shower head. Why was it so cold? It was freezing now. This wasn't water. It was snow. She was being buried in snow. It wasn't supposed to be like this, like ice. Why is it freezing?

‘ _Again.Againagainagain.’_

She couldn’t do this. Not again. Not so soon. Every fiber of her being was screaming at her to get up. To stop being so selfish. But she couldn't. All she could think about was how useless she was, now that Junko was dead. She had no reason to exist. 

_‘END IT’_

She was crying. She loved Junko so much. She was dead. Her EVERYTHING.

The water was already up to her chin. It wouldn’t take long for her nose and mouth to be submerged as well. She closed her eyes. The water wasn’t just cold. It was freezing. It felt like sharp daggers were tearing into her skin. It hurt. It hurt so much. She couldn’t feel her toes or fingers. They were gone. Cut off. Nothing remained. It was so cold.

And then she couldn’t breathe. It was so cold.

_‘It’s all going to be okay.’ Junko said, smiling gently. Mukuro didn’t believe her. It was so cold._

But that couldn’t be right, could it? When was the last time Junko said something like that to her? And so softly, at that. She sounded so caring, like a mother. This wasn’t real. Not real, not real, not real. Not real. She would have been angry, but everything just felt numb now. It was so cold.

It was so cold.

She couldn’t feel anything except for the tightening knot in her chest. At any moment now, her lungs would run out of oxygen and force her mouth to inhale. All she would get is water. Frozen, sharp water. They would fill her lungs, and she would drown. Rightfully so. A stray, long-forgotten memory crashed into her mind. She was waterboarding someone. An interrogation session, one of the few that she had participated in. It happened so long ago. Was this how it felt? Did she deserve this?

_‘Why is this so familiar? Why is this happening again? I'm doing this to myself.'_

Whatever. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Everything would be okay, even if Junko was lying about that. She knew it. She remembered that she locked the door anyway, so she would be okay. Even if he followed her again, saw her car, drove after her, was worried, told his friends…

_‘Huh?’_

Didn’t he… He said. Makoto said _“I don’t want you to try and hurt yourself again.”_

She sat up, eyes flying open. She inhaled, exhaled, inhaled, exhaled, inhaled, exhaled, inhaled, exhaled, inhaled, exhaled…

…

She looked down at her hands. They were trembling so badly that for a second, she thought that she was seeing double. She opened and closed them, but couldn’t feel a thing. Somehow, she managed to pull the plug on the drain and turn the water off. For the next minute, she just sat there, staring down as the water slowly drained from the tub. Her brain could barely process what had just happened.

By the time it was empty, she could feel her limbs again.

* * *

She looked at herself in the mirror and was struck by how _normal_ she looked.

While she was showering, Makoto had gone to his sister’s house and borrowed some clothes from her. That is, being a soft pair of plaid pants and a blank white T-shirt.

_‘Was this a good idea?’_

If she had just gone home, then she could have saved Makoto quite a bit of trouble. Not only did he have to care for her before she woke up, but he even cleaned up her mess, even though she said that she would take care of it. It didn't make sense. And now, this? Even though they hadn’t seen each other in so long, he was still very much the same kind, caring person she had known him to be.

She sighed and dumped her used towel into a nearby laundry basket. She was in the guest room again, though she wasn’t too happy about it. It felt wrong to be here, staying at his house. She didn’t deserve to be treated like this.

With a growing pit in her stomach, she opened the door and headed downstairs, where Makoto was lounging. He was living in a fairly large home, which was somewhat surprising to her. She wouldn’t have expected him to even be able to afford a place like this.

_‘Maybe he won a lottery? He IS supposed to be lucky…’_

That still didn’t explain how he was even able to _own_ a home in the first place. She doubted that he was old enough for it to be legal, and…

She shook her head. _‘Mind your own business.’_

“Mukuro? Is that you?”

She rushed down the remaining steps and there, sitting on a three-seater couch, was Makoto Naegi. He had a bowl on a low table in front of him with food and a white plastic spoon, though it looked untouched. Both of his hands were clenched tightly around a cellphone.

“Hi.” She said simply. After some hesitation, she made her way over to the couch and sat next to him. For some reason, her insides twisted and turned from being so close to him. If she had to guess, it might be remnants of her crush on him from back when they attended Hope’s Peak together. Though there was no way she could _still_ harbor those feelings, when so much time had passed.

”I called Miaya. She said that she would be happy to help you.” Makoto said. “But right now, she has a long list of patients, so she’s pretty busy. It might be a while until she finds some time.”

“Well, that’s ok.” Mukuro said. “I feel alright. Good, even. I don’t think therapy is necessary.”

“Mukuro-”

“Honest.” She interrupted. It was the truth - At least, partially. She _did_ feel perfectly fine. Of course, less than fifteen minutes ago, she had nearly drowned herself. But she stopped herself, so that had to count for something, right? She was probably just feeling stressed from Junko’s death. She would get over it soon, she was sure of it. “I can take care of myself. Just let me go back home.”

He gave her a tight-lipped stare. It was fairly obvious that he wasn’t completely convinced. “How can I be sure that nothing will happen? I hope that you understand, but… I’m just really reluctant to leave you by yourself right now. You seem better now, but back at the funeral, you really weren’t yourself. I don’t want something like that to happen again.”

“I was just tired.” She countered weakly. “And besides, it’s not like I’ll accomplish anything by staying here, except continuing to be a bother. You don’t have to waste time babysitting me.”

“Mukuro. This is serious. I care about you.” He said. “You don’t have to go through Junko’s death alone. Trust me when I say that you’re not bothering anyone, least of all me.”

“You… care about me?”

“Why wouldn't I?"

_'Because I'm not worth it. Because you have better things to do.'_

She wanted to scream these things at him. Make him understand. But she couldn't She just couldn't.

“... Okay. Okay, whatever." She was confused. It wasn’t as if they were very close. Even when they attended school together, they rarely ever interacted, though mostly to her own fault. She was surprised that they could have even been _considered_ friends. It made no sense to her that he would be this nice to her, even if he was a generally kind person.

He exhaled in relief and gave her a smile. One of the first she’s seen in a long while. She suddenly found it hard to concentrate as he began speaking. What was he saying? It just sounded like vague muttering. All she could think about was the sudden warmth in her chest. Was she drugged? Probably not, but it definitely felt like she was.

“ - sure to do that. Oh, and if you’re hungry, I made some food for you.” He said, gesturing to the bowl at the table. It was a small bowl of what looked to be fried rice, complete with peas and small chunks of chicken. “Nothing special, but I did my best.”

“Oh. Um, thanks.” Mukuro said, snapping out of her daze. Now that he mentioned it, she _was_ pretty hungry. For the past few weeks, she had only been eating just enough to not starve to death. She took the bowl from the table and began eating from it. Even though it tasted great, and her stomach screamed for more, she continued to eat at a painstakingly slow rate. It just felt so _wrong_ to have someone be taking care of her like this. Especially since she wasn’t injured or anything.

“I’ll be in my room upstairs. Knock if you need anything, okay?” Makoto said. She nodded and he gave her another smile in return. As he got up from the couch and started towards the stairs, Mukuro could only stare at him while robotically spooning food into her mouth.

She didn’t know what to say.


	4. Chapter 4

_“Ah. That’s not good.” Junko said dumbly, looking down at her chest. There, the tip of a large machete was present, covered in her blood. More of the red stuff was slowly dripping down her cardigan, more than likely leaving irreparable stains. Who knew how long it would take to clean? She might even have to buy a new one. What a waste._

_Mukuro stared at her. It happened out of nowhere, really. One second they were alone, walking down the sidewalk. The next, a gray figure appeared behind Junko and ran that blade through her. She could see their face, equipped with a sadistic grin and glinting eyes._

_They withdrew the machete, letting Junko fall forwards onto the ground. Her eyes were already half-closed, and more blood spurted out of the now open wound. The gray figure didn’t get the chance to move another inch before Mukuro planted a bullet within their eyes. They dropped dead._

_Now, she was alone._

_Everyone else was dead._

_Their bodies turned to dust._

_The sidewalk vanished. She was falling._

_Now, she was really alone._

* * *

Her eyes shot open. They closed a second later.

_‘Focus. Breathe. Calm down.’_

It didn’t matter how many times she had these types of dreams. No matter what, she always woke up like this. Covered in a cold sweat, heart racing, and a headache. Junko always died. It was only this time that she died like that. Sometimes, she was shot. Sometimes, she would have a heart attack. Sometimes, she would kill herself. It was always changing, always shifting. It was always such a surprise.

But that remained consistent. Always, no matter what, she would die. And she would be too late to save her. A failure, caught in that terrible loop. She would always watch her die, over and over again, every night. If she was lucky, she would only dream once.

Mukuro shuddered and shifted around in her bed. It was too hot all of the sudden. But cold too. So cold. She wrapped her blanket around her body. Did it help? Not really. Sweat clung to her skin like sticky sap. She could feel goosebumps rising on her arms. She hated that feeling. The prickles and static, terrible things that didn’t mesh well with drowsiness. Every night, every single _fucking night._

_‘I hate it.’_

Drugs never worked either. They just made it worse. She wouldn’t wake up. She would just see her. Dead. Dying. Resurrected, in the void. Her body would tear itself apart and then repair itself, stuck in a loop until she woke up. It was like being set on fire. The _burn_ , the _flames_ , like seeing portals into hell where all of the souls were Junko, Junko Junko Junko Junko Junko Junko Junko Junko Junko…

Why did she have to die so much? It never stopped. Will it ever?

It was like the universe itself hated Junko. It wanted to see her die in every single way imaginable. Fine. Whatever. Just leave her out of it. Why did she have to see every single death? Why did she have to be the sole audience member in her hellhole? She loved her. She wished that she would just vanish. Be erased from existence. She didn’t have to have a sister anymore. She loved her so much.

_‘Calmcalmcalmcalmcalm calm down calm down go to sleep go to sleep’_

It was impossible. How cold was it in here? It felt like she was stuck in a freezer.

Mukuro cursed silently and shook off her blanket. She got up from her bed, one hand against the wall to steady herself. Her entire body couldn’t stop shaking. Each individual muscle kept tensing and untensing, sending shivers and shocks that made walking straight an almost impossible task. God, couldn’t she just be normal? Why? At the very least, ACT NORMAL. _‘Self pity gets you nowhere.’_ It gets _no one_ anywhere. And why was it so hot anyway? 

She paused.

Just sna _p o_ ut of it already. Th _is is stup_ id. No one cares if you’re cold, or hot, or if you’re in _pain, or if you want someone to help. It would be b_ etter if you just _acted normal, and stopp_ ed bothering everyone with this ridiculous depression act. _You’re j_ ust _lazy_. Get over yourself. Haven’t you done all of this already? Get over it. Get over it. _Get ov_ e _r it. St_ op repeat _ing_ yourself. You look l _ike an idio_ t. No one car _es._

_‘Self pity gets you nowhere.’_

...

Eventually, she managed to get out of her room. Now, where should she go? She had no idea. Her mind couldn’t focus on answering that question.

Finally, her body decided for her. Seemingly out of no will of her own, she started to walk downstairs, still shivering and trembling all the while. It was dark. She couldn’t see anything. Black, dark, nothing, void, she kept walking down each stair… _‘I hope I don’t fall.’..._ The sounds of her footsteps, gunshots, so loud… She stopped. Her leg was jerking about like it was being electrocuted. God, it wouldn’t _stop_. But this happened all the time, these days. These days, these sisterless, lonesome days...

Oh, there we go. She was on the couch. Well, a set of two. She was still shaking. She was even colder down here. Crouching, almost curled in a ball. Almost.

Wasn’t there a lamp around here? Somewhere? 

Fuck it was dark. So damn dark. It made sense though. Wasn’t she supposed to be sleeping? Just do what you’re supposed to. ‘ _And stop shaking stop shaking for fucks sake STOP IT STOP SHAKING I CANT MOVE’_

She couldn’t stop. She was just a spectator, watching her own body flail about like a fish out of water. Like a fish that was drowning in air. Drowning. Drowning? No, she wasn’t drowning. She wasn’t supposed to be drowning. She stopped. She stopped herself. This wasn’t supposed to happen at all. She was free. Get over yourself, hold yourself if you need to, will you?

So what if she died? She mourned her, there was a funeral, all is well and good. So just _‘stop being such an idiot. You’re better than this. You’re a soldier. Trained. Get better so you’_ can leave and do something with her life.

Fuck, her chest was too tight, too tight, she just wanted to dig her nails in and tear her skin apart. Breathe. In, out, in, out, in, out. She couldn’t see anything. So dark. So dark. She stood up from the couch, a hand grasping her chest. Her heartbeat sounded like someone was punching a drum. She was going to die. She was going to explode. Her face was burning and itchy. On fire.

_‘I can’t I can’t I CAN’T.’_

Was that her heartbeat or gunshots?

She dropped to her knees and started crawling. She couldn’t feel her legs. She couldn’t feel her LEGS. But she knew they were there. Jerking and spazzing, useless twigs.

She blinked. Ah, light? A small strip of pure, white light was there on the floor.

Her eyes wandered until they found a window. The curtains weren’t closed completely, so some moonlight managed to make it in. Where was she? Those were tiles. The floor, white tiles. Where was she?

She reached up and barely managed to grasp the curtains. With a desperate, strangled cry, she pulled them open as hard as she could. Light, blissful light flooded the area, pure white moonlight that made her eyes hurt but made everything more okay.

Sink, oven, microwave, fridge… Kitchen.

With a shuddering breath, she stood up and staggered over to the sink. She began drinking from the tap. Nice, smooth, lukewarm water. Feeling returned to her limbs. The moonlight lit up the kitchen nicely. It was nice. Calm. 

She left the kitchen and found a lightswitch. The room lit up instantly. There were the two couches and the low table. Another table, along with chairs - the dining area? Some doors… More stairs, and a television! A pretty big one too.

She smiled unconsciously, though it didn’t take long for her to realize what she was doing. The smile died down almost instantly. It felt unnatural. Wrong. It didn’t fit at all, not with her.

She peered at a wall clock. It was a few minutes past midnight.

She sighed and turned off the lightswitch, though she left the curtains open. She quickly walked back upstairs and went back inside of her room, where she went to bed and pulled her blanket over her body. It didn’t take long for her to fall asleep.

* * *

News, cartoon, more news, a documentary, a crime flick, a reality tv show, another cartoon, more news, weather report, educational show, another documentary…

_‘Why not?’_

Placing the remote down, she began eating her breakfast, which consisted of an omelette and toast. Makoto made it for her which was nice, even though she protested against it. It made her feel useless, being cared for so intensively. Sure, she didn’t know how to cook anything other than MRE’s and microwavable foods, but that's besides the point.

“Hm. I didn’t know you were a fan of nature?”

Mukuro glanced at Makoto who was eating his own meal, which was identical to hers. He was standing and eating, which for some bizarre reason made her feel like getting up from the couch and doing the same. She spared another glance at the television - An alligator was displayed swimming in a lake, while a cool-toned narrator went on and on about how amazing it was.

She shrugged. “Not really. It’s just that nothing else that’s on is any more interesting.”

“What kind of shows do you watch then?” He asked.

“I… don’t really watch television.” She admitted. The only times where she would actually choose to watch TV were the times where Junko would be on. She had been interviewed a few times for her appearances as a cover model on magazines. “I guess I was never really interested in just watching stuff. It’s kind of boring.”

“Boring?” He echoed. “I remember that you had one at your dorm room though.”

“Huh? How did you remember _that_?”

“Erm, I’m not sure?” He laughed awkwardly. “You had a game console hooked up to it though. I remember playing on it with you once or twice.”

“Yeah, the rec room at Hope’s Peak was pretty slim on things to do. They had like, one pool table and some board games.” She rolled her eyes. “Honestly, I would have been happy with even a single FPS.”

“Erm, FPS?”

“Ah… First person shooter. Like, games where you shoot stuff.” She clarified. _‘This conversation seems familiar… Why though?’_

“Ah, you did mercenary work, didn’t you? I guess it makes sense for you to like that kind of thing.” He frowned. “You... _aren’t_ a mercenary anymore, are you?”

“... No, I’m not..” She scowled down at her right hand, where the mark of Fenrir was branded. As far as she knew, they had been disbanded for several months now. That was what she was told, anyway. Who knew? Maybe they decided that they didn’t want to have ties with her anymore, and just fed her a cover story. They could very well still be in operation. “I tried to work with them again after graduation, but I’ve had no luck.”

“Phew, that’s good.” He sighed.

“Why?” She deadpanned.

“Huh?”

“Why is it good?” She pressed. “Do you think that I can’t fend for myself?”

“Wha- No, no! Nothing like that.” Makoto stammered. He suddenly seemed a bit flustered, patches of red rising in his cheeks. “I-I mean, I know you’re really good at fighting, and being a soldier, and all that stuff, so...”

“Why is it good?” She repeated.

“Well, wars are… They’re pretty dangerous, you know?” He said lamely. “I-I mean, I know that sounds pretty obvious, but it’s true. Doing that type of work, killing people… I’d hate to see you get hurt, or worse.”

“Makoto, I haven’t even received a single wound from all of my time in Fenrir.” She stated. She wasn’t trying to brag or anything - It was just a fact. At this point, even if she returned to the battlefield, it was less than likely anything serious would happen to her. “And besides. I’m the Ultimate Soldier. I’m _supposed_ to fight. It’s what I’m meant to do. It's what I _need_ to do. ”

“Even if you’ve never been injured before, there’s no telling whether or not it would happen in the future. No matter how good you are, an accident could happen. You could be seriously hurt." Makoto said. He put his plate down and sat on the couch adjacent to her. “Maybe you’re supposed to fight, but you don't _have_ to. You're your own person.”

_'Why? Why does he keep doing this to me?'_

It almost hurt, hearing him say those words. No one had ever said those type of things to her. It went against almost everything she knew. Again and again, his words kept nailing themselves into her head. Was he lying for some reason? No, that wouldn't make sense... Her head began to pound heavily, warning her of the headache that was about to come. How could he keep saying these things, day after day? It was almost like being brainwashed.

"I guess..." She muttered. She couldn't even look at him anymore. It felt like his eyes were burning a hole into her.

"... I guess you're right."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *changed ending of chapter 4

Sweat dripped from her brow as the fire before her roared, blasting waves of heat at her. She could hear Makoto’s panicked words, though they didn’t quite register in her mind. Not quite sure on what to do, she just looked around with wide eyes, until her gaze fell on him. Quickly, she extinguished the fires, reducing them to a low flame. With shaking hands, she batted at the thin veil of smoke at her face before reaching to her right to grab-

“Ah, that’s the sugar.” Makoto said before she could reach the small jar.

“O-Oh, sorry.” She muttered, quickly withdrawing her hand. She opened the salt container and pinched a small amount before sprinkling it over the eggs, which had already started to form.  _ ‘This is more intense than I thought it would be.’ _

She didn’t care whether or not it was a bother, she wasn’t going to let him do  _ everything  _ for her. Cooking was an essential life skill anyway, so she might as well learn how to do it properly while she had the time. And with someone who actually knew how to cook by her side, it should’ve been pretty easy.

_ Should’ve. _

“Don’t worry too much about the knobs, you can just keep the heat at medium-low for now.” He said. “Just wait until the edges of the egg start to form, then pull them towards the center.”

“A-Alright…”

“You can do this. Everyone struggles at first, you know?” He said with a gentle smile. It almost gave her a heart attack.  


She nodded stiffly and used the plastic spatula to move the eggs to the middle of the pan. 

“Keep moving and turning them over. They’re almost done.” Makoto said. “Be sure to dig under them, so that they don’t stick to the pan… Oh, not like that, gentler. You also have to… Here, let me show you.”

She almost gasped as he grabbed her wrists and began puppeteering her hands, smoothly operating the spatula. She stared unblinkingly at the pan, though she couldn’t seem to concentrate on his example. It was like something in her brain had shut off.

_ ‘This is stupid. Dumb. Just concentrate.’ _

It was almost impossible. She wasn’t at a literal warzone, with bullets flying past her head and explosions going off in the background, but she almost wished she was. It would have been easier to focus.  _ ‘Not normal. Don’t be stupid.’ _

Makoto took his hands away, and she immediately returned to rigidly scrambling the eggs around. Though apparently, she was doing better as he didn’t raise any more objections. “You can turn the heat off now, but keep moving the eggs.”

She followed his orders, practically holding her breath all the while. After a few minutes, she saw Makoto nod out of the corner of her eye. “It’s probably good now. Now, all you need to do is plate them.”

Exhaling, Mukuro dumped the eggs into a plate that was empty, save for a spoon. They looked like a yellow, soggy pile of cotton. She didn’t feel all too hungry, but she tried some anyway - They weren’t  _ bad _ , but they weren’t good either. In fact, they were probably the most average tasting eggs that she had ever eaten in her life. Though since it was her first time, that might be a good thing.

“What do you think?” He asked.

“They’re okay.” She said, staring down at it.  _ ‘That should have been way easier. How did I struggle so much?’ _

“I think I can make them on my own, anyway. Thanks for teaching me.” She said tonelessly.  


“No problem! I’d be glad to teach you more, if you want to learn about other recipes” He picked up a small piece between his fingertips and tossed it into his mouth. “They’re pretty good! Better than  _ my  _ first attempt, anyway.”

“Really?” She asked doubtfully.

“Yeah. Even with a cookbook in front of me, I ended up with a tasteless, gray mess.”

“You have cookbooks? Did you end up becoming a chef?” She asked. He never expressed any interest in cooking while they were at school together, so it was kind of strange to see him so familiar with it now.

“Huh? Oh, nothing like that. It’s just that since I was living alone, I thought that I might as well learn how to make a meal myself, rather than order takeout every day.” He shrugged. “Besides, I wanted to have  _ some  _ other talent, rather than being kind of lucky.”

“I see.”

…

“Oh, I probably should have mentioned this earlier, but Miaya sent me a message this morning." Makoto said, as he put the used pan in the sink. "She said that she should be able to see you in two days or so.”

She grimaced. Did she really have to talk to a therapist? It seemed weird - She’s felt pretty normal for the day, so it seemed unnecessary. She was probably over  _ it _ by now. It didn’t feel right to start having sessions with the ‘Ultimate Therapist’ considering all of that. Plus, there might’ve been others who  _ do  _ actually need her. Yes, that's right. She felt normal. Completely. So no one needed to do anything, right.  


“Makoto, I don’t think I need to see her anymore. I was probably-”

“Don’t.” Makoto interrupted. He sighed and shook his head. “You tried to… kill yourself. If we just ignore the problem, then it will just get worse. We need to get you help as soon as we can.”

“But I  _ don’t  _ need help.”

“Why?” Makoto demanded. “Why do you always say that you don’t need help? Every time we talk about this, you always want to just soldier through everything by yourself. You can’t just do that!”

“I can. I can. It’s fine. I’m FINE.” Mukuro backed up from him, fists clenched. The room was starting to spin. Why couldn’t he just see? She couldn’t do any of this. It was impossible. Completely impossible. He should  _ understand _ . How many times had Junko called her stupid, ignorant, ugly, and  _ worthless _ ? She understood her. They understood  _ each other _ .

And they were the only ones. It was a two-way street, and they were the only drivers. But now she was alone. Ultimate Therapist? What was she going to do? A therapist would just try to pry her secrets open. To see all the things Junko did. But she was dead. That wouldn’t be fair. AT ALL. It would be bad. Terrible. Junko would be so disappointed at her. Who would surrender theirselves to interrogation? Let her rest in peace. It was only fair. She deserved to have her memory preserved.  


“Mukuro, why? Please, you can tell me! What’s wrong?” Makoto pleaded. He took a step forward, causing her to take another step back.

And  _ what  _ would happen if everyone knew about the  _ things  _ Junko did, and what she always  _ said  _ and  _ believed  _ in and wanted? She shuddered. It was impossible to think. They all didn’t understand. They couldn’t understand. If they saw Junko calling her worthless, they would just point to her and call her abusive, or a bully. But they didn’t know. THEY didn’t know. Why does everyone always think they know everything?  


She called her worthless because that was the  _ truth _ . Junko understood her.

_ ‘I’m worthless. I’m worthless. I’m worthless.’ _

“It’s okay. I’m okay.” She said quietly, almost whispering. Hot puddles of water starting pooling in her eyes. The sensation was almost burning, and it felt alien-like. What was happening to her? She backed up again, only to be met with a wall. Where did that come from? “Don’t. I’m okay. I don’t need help.”

“Mukuro.” He repeated. He took small steps towards her, one after another, until he was right in front of her. He was practically at the same height as her now. It was weird, being able to stare straight at him. “Please.”

“No. No. Nonono. I’m okay.” The water slowly dripped down her cheeks. Acid trails. What?

Was…

“Please.”

…

“It’s not worth it.”

“What do you mean?”

She started shaking violently. Her knees began to lock. The room kept spinning and spinning, round and round, how was it possible? It made her sick. But he was covering most of it. He was right there, looking at her. So  _ worried _ . So  _ caring _ . It was unnatural, weird, painful.. Stop it.  _ Stop it _ . “It’s not worth it. I’m not worth it, okay? S-So stop. Just stop it.”

“...”

“T-There’s no point in any of this. So stop it. Just  _ stop _ . You don’t need to… t-try. You don’t need to try and fix me. It’s okay. Don't waste y-your time.” Her heart and lungs were being crushed. She was dying. He was killing her. He didn’t understand her. He couldn’t  _ help _ . No one could. He wasn’t Junko. He wasn’t Junko.  _ He wasn’t Junko _ . No one is. She’s dead. No one can help. _'Worthless. Don't waste the effort.'_  


“Mukuro.” He said quietly. Slowly, her eyes rose up to meet his own. They looked… looked... “You aren’t worthless, okay? I’m trying to help you because you’re  _ important  _ to me. I care a lot about you. Me, Miaya, everyone in our class… Junko too. She wouldn’t have wanted you to be like this.”

They looked…

“So let us help you. Please.”

She stared at him, at a lost for words. The room around them broke and fragmented, turning into nothing. Black void. It was only him. He was the only thing in the room. She wasn’t standing. When had she been sitting down like this? For how long? With her back against nothing?

"B-But... You... I can't. It's not worth it. It's _not_."

"It is. Can you trust me, at least?" He asked gently. "Trust me."

Okay. Okay, okay. Maybe... She could? He hasn't lied to her. But that would mean... No, that was impossible. Was it?

She nodded.

Her body jerked forward, and she was enveloped in something  _ warm _ . So warm, soft, tender… He was…? Hugging her? It… Breathing was impossible. If she were to press her hand up against her chest, she was sure that there wouldn’t even be a heartbeat. She must have been dead. For some reason, she felt at peace with that. Almost happy, even. 

It was just so comfortable.

_ 'But it's _ _wrong.'_


	6. Chapter 6

_ Warm…. Warm. No, hot. Her hand… It was burning. _

_ She blinked once. Then twice. Junko’s face was so clear. Her light blue eyes, so usually sharp and clear, were clouded and unfocused. They seemed to be staring right past her, as if she were invisible. Her lips were slightly parted - The only sound she could hear were her gasping, desperate breaths. The sharp metallic smell of blood invaded her nostrils. _

_ She looked down. Her hand was tightly gripping the jet-black handle of a butterfly knife. The blade of the said knife was… It was embedded in her. Her chest. Junko was stabbed. Someone stabbed Junko. Someone STABBED Junko. She was dying. She could feel her dying. _

_ Mukuro opened her mouth to try and tell her that she was going to get help. To tell her that she would get whoever did this. To tell her to hang on. To scream. But nothing came out. She couldn’t say anything. _

_ Why couldn’t she let go of the knife? She glared down at her hand which stubbornly refused to obey her commands. The mark of Fenrir stared back up at her, almost accusingly. Thin streams of blood dripped from her fingers and fell on the floor. Drip, drip. _

_ Someone stabbed her. _

_ NO. _

_ Her hand finally let go of the knife. Junko started falling backwards, but before she could hit the marble floor, she caught her. Gently, she lowered her body onto the ground. The knife handle was convulsing, shaking. But there wasn’t too much blood. Maybe she would be okay. Maybe she would be okay. She would be. She had to be. _

_ She stared at the knife for a few seconds. It stared back. Pure black. Void. It wasn’t even a knife. _

_ It didn’t exist. It was nothing. There was just a hole in Junko’s chest. There was no knife. No knife, no knife, butterfly or otherwise, not beautiful or black. _

_ It was a shame that the knife vanished. It was one of her favorites. It was one of the few possessions she carried that she really cared about. It was irreplaceable, one of a kind. _

_ She looked back down at her bloodstained hand, and saw that it was carrying the knife. _

_ “I… was the one? I did this.” _

_ Oh, her mouth could speak now. _

_ … _

_ Junko was dead. Again. Not again. Why again? _

_ … _

_ She screamed. Finally. _

* * *

Her eyes shot open. 

From her years of ruthless soldier training and time at war, she had become an extremely light sleeper. It was necessary to survive. There were many times where she would be forced to set up camp in the middle of a warzone, to get some rest. For the times when her camp would be discovered by an enemy soldier, she would have to be able to wake at a moment’s notice, from the slightest sound disturbance. 

Of course, there were also times where she would be sleeping while an ally would keep watch. Most of the time, she never woke up to a footstep, or faint mutters. 

She would just wake up to the screams of her fellow mercenaries being shot.

A door opening, rapid footsteps. Then the sound of  _ her  _ door being opened. Her room was almost completely dark, with the only source of light coming from the now-opened door. Even then, almost all of it was being absorbed by the walls. The damned, black, spotless walls. She sat up from her bed so that she could see it. Him. His vague figure, blurry and dark yet so recognizable. 

“Mukuro! Are you okay? What happened?” His figure rushed to her bedside. “I heard a scream - Was that you?”

“I… I think so.” Mukuro said. She stared at him, eyes squinting in an attempt to focus on his silhouette. It was too dark. Why couldn’t he have turned on the lights? That would have made it easier to see him. “Sorry. It was just a dream.”

“A dream?” He kneeled down, so that they were at eye-level.

She shuddered. That was new. And vivid. Every single second of the dream seemed to be etched into her brain. Why did she have to kill her? Why did her mind conjure these things up to torment her with? It made her feel sick. It made her feel hurt, and sore, and cold, and  _ fuck,  _ why did she have to be the one to do it?

“What was it about?” He asked gently. 

Every alarm in her head went off at the same time. No, she shouldn’t tell him. Just don’t. It’s not worth it.

_ ‘But why? I can tell him. It’s fine. Please, let me.’  _ She argued to herself.

Why should she? She had probably woken him up, stealing his sleep. It wouldn’t be fair to burden him further. Besides, what would be the point in telling him anyway? It wasn’t as if he could go inside of her head and fix the problem. It wasn’t that easy. No, it would be easier and safer to just ignore him.

_ ‘No. I want to do this. He wants to know. Let me tell him.’ _

There was no point. Even if he did have some way of helping her, why should he? She wasn’t worth the effort. Junko said so herself.

_ ‘Stop. Please. Stop. Stop. Makoto said. He said it would be worth it. I can trust him. I DO trust him.’ _

…

“Junko. It… It was about her.”

“O-Oh. Mukuro, I… You don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to.” Makoto said quickly. 

She shook her head firmly. She had made her mind. She had to do this.  _ ‘Trust. Let me trust him.’ _

“No. Makoto, let me tell you. I want to.” She leaned forward a bit, and without thinking too much, grabbed his hand. “I can, right? You said that you can help me. Please.”

“Mukuro…”

“O-Okay. It was about, well, Junko. I… Oh my god, I  _ stabbed  _ her. Makoto, it was  _ me _ . I did it this time, and It was just me there, I had my knife and it was just  _ inside  _ of her.” Mukuro squeezed his hand. It hurt to think about. It was so wrong. But she had to do this. Right? Maybe. She took a shaky breath and continued. “Her blood was so hot. It burned me. I-I stabbed her, and then the knife was gone and it wasn’t, and I just… I just  _ screamed  _ because what else was I going to do?! I didn’t know how to save her!”

She was breathing rapidly now, taking in shallow breaths for fractions of a second at a time before releasing them. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead as the details of her dream became clearer and clearer. It was like watching a movie in her head. It was in slow motion, playing frame by frame. “Fuck, there was nothing there. Nothing at all. But… God, I could have torn off some fabric or something and patched her up, right? Why didn’t I do that? I killed her. I saw it, I killed her, and-”

“Mukuro, that’s enough.” Makoto interrupted. “It was just a dream, which means you didn’t kill her. Everything’s okay.”

“I… I know, but… I could have done something.” She said. “I could have done something. I could have saved her. Why? Why didn’t I do anything?”

“You can’t blame yourself for things that you had no control over.” He replied. She wished that she could see his eyes right now. Wished that it was brighter, but not too bright. Wished that the walls were painted white, or red, or blue, or green, or purple, or yellow, or orange, or white, or red, or anything. Wished that Junko was alive. That she would leave her alone. “It isn’t your fault, you know that right?”

“It is. I failed. That’s what happened.” 

“No, that’s wrong!” Makoto doubled his grip on her hand. It felt so warm that it was almost uncomfortable. Almost like her blood. Why was it so similar? It shouldn't be. “ _ None  _ of what happened was your fault, both in your nightmare and in reality. You don’t have to bear the full weight of her death on your shoulders like this.”

_ ‘No. But…’ _

That couldn’t have been true. She was a soldier. The entire point of her existence was to fight to protect the things she loved. The person she loved. Junko.

_ ‘But I can trust him. He said so. I can trust him I can trust him I can trust him let me trust him please.’ _

He was just lying to make her feel better, right? He was just nice in that way. Probably didn’t want her to feel guilty. Probably wanted for her to feel like it was okay to dodge her responsibilities. He was so nice, so friendly, caring,  _ everything _ . It’s not okay.

_ “It is. He’s… my… friend.’ _

It felt so disgustingly wrong to even  _ think  _ about that. She couldn’t even explain why. Junko was her friend. Junko was her sister. That was it. Wasn’t it? That was supposed to be it. Junko herself said so. She didn’t have friends, it was impossible. Junko was all she had. JUNKO was all she had. That was the  _ truth _ .

_ ‘I can trust him. He said so. So stop. I… I want to. Stop doing this to me. I hate you. I hate you so much. Leave me alone. I never wanted this. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. Stop doing this to me. Stop. Stop. Stop Stop stopstopstopstop-’ _

“Mukuro? Are you okay?”

…

The walls. They were shifting, morphing shadows that laughed and taunted at her from the void.

“I… I’m okay. Thanks. I’m going to sleep downstairs, on one of the couches. I don’t want to sleep here anymore.” She gently withdrew her hand from his grip and got up from her bed. “That’s okay, right?”

“H-Huh? Well, I mean, if you really want to sleep on the couches, I guess you can. But why? Is there something wrong with the bed?” Makoto asked, confused.

“No, It’s just… um… “ Mukuro fumbled. How could she explain that the  _ walls  _ were so fucking terrifying? It didn’t make sense. She wished that she could just tear them down, or something. “I… don’t feel comfortable sleeping in this room. That’s it.”

Makoto sat in silence for a bit before speaking. “If it’s just that, then how about we switch rooms for the night? I would feel a little guilty if you slept on the couch when a bed is free. I could sleep here, and you could sleep in my bed.”

“Okay.” She said simply. Fine. Whatever. Just as long as she would be away from those walls. 

* * *

Aside from some variants in furniture and general decor, Makoto’s room looked identical to the guest room. Thankfully, the walls were brown. The same color as his hair, actually. She wondered if he did that intentionally, or if it was just a coincidence. Either way, she liked it. It was even comforting, compared to the sharp, inky sludge that was spread throughout the other room.

She turned off the lights laid down on his bed, resisting the slight urge to open the dresser next to it. After a few seconds of staring up at the ceiling, she pulled the blanket over her. It  _ smelled  _ like him, which made sense, but was surprising nonetheless. The scent was indescribable: Strong, yet subtle, almost like a mixture of pine, gravel, fresh air, and something artificial -  _ industrial _ , and nostalgic somehow.

It was there that she just started to break down. Tears poured out of her eyes like open faucets, and she had no idea why. It felt like she’s been here for  _ years  _ despite it being less than half a week. It was just so much, too much. She curled into a tight ball, protected by the thick, warm covers of the bed and cried more than she had ever done in her entire life.

It was like a tsunami of a hundred different thoughts, emotions, and other incomprehensible things flooding every part of her body. Every single neuron of her brain felt like it was breaking apart. And yet it wasn’t terrible. It was just… just.

She stopped eventually, and fell asleep.

There were no dreams.


	7. Update

I'm going to shelve this fic for the time being: I might come back to it on a later date, but probably not.

The main reason being, I know _where_ I want this fic to go, but I don't know _how_ to do it.

Obviously, suicide is a real and very delicate issue. I don't know how to write about the therapy involved with treating suicidal people, nor do I know how to properly express suicidal thoughts. 

I would rather not misrepresent the topic, especially through something like a fanfiction, so sorry.


End file.
